


The Talk

by chronicAngel



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gen, POV Third Person, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 02:51:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13285401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronicAngel/pseuds/chronicAngel
Summary: "Well someone's gotta talk to him."





	The Talk

She sees him, sitting on the couch with his legs pulled up to his chest and his arms crossed in front of them to hold them closer, huddling in on himself and glaring around as though to say _I'm above you, and I want you to know that._ She can see it, though. His chest is pressed just a little too close to his legs, he's clinging to his knees just a little too tightly, and his eyes look less condescending and more... suspicious and mistrustful. She can see the way his breaths are uneven like a wounded dog recovering from a fight that's not sure enough of its safety to lick its wounds. He's scared. She feels a tight pain in her chest that she believes is sympathy because when she looks at him, the boy who's trying so hard to seem like he has any control over his own situation, she just sees a scared little kid.

She sees herself.

Dick and Tim are whispering to each other in a corner, their eyes occasionally sliding over to him, filled with the same mistrust and suspicion, but no fear. Bruce is out of the room, likely discussing the situation with Alfred, his most trusted advisor, which leaves all of them alone in the room; the police officer and eldest brother who wants to look out for his youngest brother (only Tim isn't the youngest brother anymore, if this boy is to be believed), the boy who got dragged into all of this because of a couple pictures and whose nose is still bleeding, the only daughter with eyes as sharp as the blades she used to wield, and him. The terrified boy with the green eyes.

"...Bruce's job," she catches, and it sounds like Tim's voice.

"Bruce isn't _here,_ " Dick huffs, snapping his attention back to Tim's face when he notices Cass is watching him. She wonders if they can tell that she sympathizes with this new boy. "He's talking to Alfred right now."

"Well someone's gotta talk to him." Tim, as though worried Dick won't know who he's talking about, throws a thumb over his shoulder at the boy.

Cassandra glares at them and gestures to catch their attention, before moving to sit next to the boy on the couch.

She notices immediately that he flinches, though it's small enough that she thinks even he might not have noticed. He looks unsure for a moment, as though he wants to slide his eyes back to his feet where they rest on the couch, but eventually pulls his expression into a glare and straightens his posture. She can tell he wants to be intimidating, and wants it to be clear that he's certainly better than any of them. She only feels another pang of sympathy shoot through her chest.

"What's your name?" She says, struggling with the words. She's been talking for long enough now, but it still feels so foreign to her, like every word slides out but leaves a strange feeling behind. He doesn't answer, instead scooting a couple of inches away from her. "What's your age?" She tries again, and she knows that it's not quite right.

"Tt," he says, only it's less of a _says_ and more of a _makes._ The sound that he just made sounds disapproving, and she levels a glare of her own at him, which she supposes must convey her message because he looks away and says, "I am ten." She raises an eyebrow, looking him up and down, and remembers how small Tim was when he wasn't much older. Her silence must intimidate him further, though, because he cracks and says, "...Almost. I will be turning ten in December. It was planned that I would be brought here then, but plans needed to be... accelerated." She doesn't ask, and she doesn't think he would answer anyway.

She thinks for a moment about what she should say in this situation. She thinks that's not something that most people have to do. When she sees Dick motivating everyone, it seems to come so naturally to him, the speeches about family and friendship and taking care of the people you care about and whatever other things he needs to say. Even Bruce can throw together a speech about the importance of sticking together if he really needs to, and she knows that it's impressive because on these occasions, even Jason will listen. She, on the other hand, does not have a way with words. She can hardly weave together a sentence when it's unimportant, like asking Alfred what's for breakfast, let alone when she's trying to talk to a nine-year-old boy who doesn't trust her and has just been abandoned with a man he doesn't know, but must feel like he's supposed to. After a minute, she tries, "I was... around your age."

He looks at her for the first time without contempt. He looks curious, almost, as though he wants to figure her out, and she finds this change in expression encouraging. It's only a fleeting moment, though, before he's back to his distant posture and his glares.

"It was my father, instead," she continues, watching him as though testing the waters. He manages to maintain the glare this time, but he isn't leaning quite so far away anymore. She really feels his eyes, now. "I was ten. 'Your training is finished,' he said."

She stops, watching him. He breathes evenly now.

She lets a smile grace her features, but looks away from him so he won't notice. "It was a woman. She had... two children. A small baby, just over one, and a daughter. She was almost three. She saw the whole thing. I..." She gestures vaguely in the air and then holds her hands together in a circle until she catches him out of the corner of her eye, nodding almost imperceptibly. She doesn't think anyone else would have noticed. "It took four minutes to be sure. Father was holding the girl... Making sure she saw. Making sure she didn't stop." Cass looks away, hissing through her teeth at the memory. Her hands move to rest on the scars on her legs from the woman's nails, and she shoves down the memory with no small amount of guilt. "I ran away. It took a while... years... but your father saved me. Brought me here."

He breathes slightly louder now, a show of emotion that she imagines is rare for him, and she thinks she hears a soft _My father..._ but doesn't say anything for a minute. Eventually, he looks at her, all traces of superiority gone. She smiles after a second, tentatively offering him her hand. "You can be here, too." She notices, out of the corner of her eye, Dick and Tim both shuffling, and decides they must have been listening in. _Good,_ she thinks. _They should know. They should feel._ The boy stares at her for a minute and says nothing. He doesn't take her hand, but he doesn't move away.

After a minute, he sniffs, but she suspects it's not out of emotion but back to the need to look superior. "My name is Damian Wayne."


End file.
